


wishbone

by markiafc



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Angst, Betrayal, Character Study, Dooku: Jedi Lost (Star Wars), Love, M/M, Metaphors, Rarepair, Separations, Symbolism, sun - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:14:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28318038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/markiafc/pseuds/markiafc
Summary: It should be enough. To make somethingbeautiful should be enough. It isn’t. It should be.
Relationships: Dooku/Sifo-Dyas (Star Wars)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 11





	wishbone

**Author's Note:**

> more richard siken titles ahbhasd this one's from 'landscape with a blur of conquerors'

1.

Outrun the sun; Dooku departed in the dozen days Sifo-Dyas spent sleeping in induced darkness. The Halls of Healing housed him like an apparition on the verge of vanishing, the silvers of Sifo-Dyas comprising of light, weak and waning white; air, acting through tubes and bubbling through blue; and colour, a palette of browns, pallid and pitted with paled scars. The scattered spalls of him assembled, and then inundated in a tank where the water swore to stall the evaporation of his identity. The aquarium swore to suspend the state of his substance. And the audience of one swore himself solemn and circadian — sun sleeping and sun sleeping as the lucid lune, lone and looking, stole away one send-off a day.

Then long last and long lasting, the time does come. Then, the sun does stir. Then, the sun does swell out of the sea. The sun does rise in sun-kissed skin, soaked and scintillating. The sun does slip free of his fishbowl right into towels and tending. And, in the time of final farewells filched, Sifo-Dyas doesn’t disappear. But Dooku, the man who outran the sun for the things that needed to be done, does. 

2.

Dooku bided his time as he beheld the daybreak. He had an elbow perched atop his desk wherein his breakfast was placed, awaiting patiently: a bone porcelain platter of foodstuffs, filled with strawberries, redcurrants, cherry tomatoes and baby-cut carrots; and there were slices of cheddar cheese and a few mint leaves, fresh, sitting at the edges. The course was accompanied by a teacup’s worth of nostalgia; one, the pour of poignancy into porcelain steaming in the corner of Dooku’s eye — an infusion of hawthorn fruits, cassia seeds, and the dried leaves of lotus and traditional tea — tea, the lightest shade of whiskey brown touching the spectra of reds, oranges, yellows. No doubt the periapt of promising mornings.

And two, the presence embossed into the palm of his right hand; the weight and warmth of the teacup, phantom, burning his flesh to the dance of a distant dawn. The one sun searing the sky in a brand of fire, amber, dollops of honey, lava-lit garnets; the one sun inciting his desire to slice with the cold edge of a sword a seat in the atmosphere for own companion throne; the one sun whose silhouette tangled in bedsheets would define the shape of sentimentality in Dooku’s mind — Sifo-Dyas sleeping in the half of his mattress, body as bare as his own, alight and shadowed with the shuttered windows of Dooku’s rooms. Bands of black blending into the splay of Sifo-Dyas’ hair, bands of sunbeam bending to the rounds of Sifo-Dyas’ shoulder, his waist, his calves. The sun, dull gold all over, rousing in a relaxed rustle to reach out and…

Their fingertips touched, feather-light and firefly-flares, thumb to little meeting in a fashion of intimacy. And Sifo-Dyas smiled lazily like he was pocketing his tongue to his cheek, sporting the playfulness of a man playing a game. He tilted his hand to a side, slight, and lilting, and purring, and then slipped the first of his knuckles down the gaps in Dooku’s hands, tickling at the inside of his fingers; slotting so slow it was a show, of sensuality and teasing, until their hands were threaded akin to interlacing silks — an intricate twine, willing binds illuminated by dayspring; the light through blinds in gilt and gloom lines, a glow, golden, that engraved itself to the grooves of Dooku's right hand, a sight sun and sun-dear seated under his heedful eyelids, sighing to him _g_ _ood morning..._

Dooku furled his fingers inwards, drawn out and deliberate, to form a fist. His breakfast left bereft and untouched as he opted to apply his attention elsewhere. Curious, if the memory was something to be hidden in the darkness beneath his knuckles, or a thing to be seized lest it escape his clutches for good.

Or, perhaps, it was both.

3.

There was some place in the depths of him, where the standard years of his yearning had stacked themselves into the shape of the Temple Spire. There was something in the depths of him that knew the tower had crumbled ages ago when he wasn’t looking. There was someone in the depths of the rubble whose blood pooled out to stain the soles of his boots, whose cries cracked like crushed bones in his ears, whose one trickling tear maybe tasted bitterly like his own.

There was no empyrean nor ether permitted to exist here, and he will not name this a reason.

“You would not find it in yourself to forgive me.” Dooku said, swathes of silk sliding off his tongue and pooling at his feet; faith flatlining, freedom flatlining, felicity flatlining, only the truth that was not the truth may survive. 

“Ah, wrong again, my dear.” Sifo-Dyas laughed, strangled at the ends. It was hard to speak with all the blood in his mouth. “I would, I probably would, if only you had asked. But I know you won’t. You won’t because you’ve already decided you don’t want it so you would never ask.” He stopped to wheeze. "Will... Will you?"

"No." Dooku said, and it tasted like moondust on his tongue. "I will not."

**Author's Note:**

> just a quick short writing exercise thing, that started out as one thing, and then got really fragmented, and then i scrambled to string it all together somehow. i know sun & moon / sky & celestial beings stuff is overdone and corny, but im putting my hand in it anyway ahbdsad to dig around in the very loose parameters of those themes


End file.
